


Phantom Limb

by randomfatechidna



Series: Season 9 Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Gen, episode coda, s09e11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:25:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomfatechidna/pseuds/randomfatechidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of them needs to take the plunge. Coda to S09E11</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Limb

Sam fiddles with his phone. There is a physical ache inside of him. It isn't in his neck, Castiel has angel-zapped all of his injuries from extracting the Grace, it was low in his stomach. It is a dull ache, but it is there, and it only calls to mind everything Sam is missing. He doesn't want to miss his brother. They need this space. Dean needs his time to himself to sort things out. Sam is sure he should be doing things similar, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything. He and Cas had failed to track Gadreel. What would he fail at next? 

Maybe he will fail at being a good brother - hold on; he's already done that, hasn't he? He let Dean walk away. And he's still pushing him out with every second he hesitates to pick up his phone. Sam didn't miss Cas' hints that he should call his brother. And if Sam was honest, the angel had the same look the kids of divorced parents got when they were still determined to Parent Trap them. Sam bit back a hysterical smile as he thought of himself and Dean trying to spell it out for Cas. It's okay, honey, you're mother and father still love you. We just have to live in different houses now.

Sometimes, rarely, Sam will feel Dean brush past him. A brief touch of leather and skin. That is all it takes to make him think, 'You know, maybe we are insane'. He thinks its a kind of Phantom Limb. He's missed something vital, so his brain is trying to compensate. Trying to replace. Trying to fix. Sam's tried to fix things before; it never ended well.

Of all the times he and Dean had gone their separate ways, there was always something bad that came out of it. Meg, the first time around. And look how she wrapped up, not to mention their Dad. And all the times they were apart, Sam had nursed the ache in his middle. The part of him that said that something was wrong. Something's definitely missing. It's the same part of Sam that houses his drive. His determination. Maybe it will be the final straw. Maybe Sam will take the plunge. Pick up the phone. Hit Dean's speed dial.

Or maybe Sam needs to suck it up. Just suck it right up. Pick up his shit and move on. Dean is convinced he's poison and Sam doesn't want to fail his brother again. They are toxic for each other. They cancel each other out. They become redundant when they're in the same room. Sure, the ache's gone when they are together, Sam is convinced again that they are, in fact, not out of their minds, and Cas looks less like a kid who lost his teddy bear but the very minute they're within speaking distance, everything they thought was right was wrong. Suddenly they've both gone off the rails and they're not quite sure how to patch it up. That's how it always goes.

Or, they make each other better. They're really the only two people on this Earth who can actually deal with each other. They call each other out on the shit they're pulling and they listen. They do stupid-ass April fool's pranks because they're both secretly five-year olds inhabiting the bodies of thirty year old men. And all the host of heaven and hell left the apocalypse in the hands of two toddlers. 

Maybe the only reason they leave each other so much is to prove to themselves that, no matter what, they're both always going to find each other. They're always going to make up. There will always be a silent apology and loud forgiveness. Maybe because even though these men are both secretly five, they are not so secretly soul mates. A shared soul. A shared heaven. A shared life. Dean and Sam can never stay apart. They've never been apart their whole life. Not really.

Sure, state lines and roads and motel doors might keep them apart. They might not be able to prank each other or take the bullet out for the other because - damn it, no amount of whiskey can drown that - or clean the guns because - hey, man, it's definitely your turn.   
But Sam and Dean are never really apart. 

They both feel the ache. It makes Dean clutch the wheel of the Impala tighter and Sam clamp his eyes shut. They both imagine a world where they are together. Together and happy. They don't cancel each other out, here. They're not redundant or failures or divorced. They're not working different cases. Hunting different evils. Making different sacrifices. In both their minds, Sam and Dean are together. The way it should be. The way it always has been. The way it will be.

But for one day to be now, one of them has to break their silence. Talk. Say hi. Say 'I've missed your voice'. Not talk. Communicate in hand gestures the way they did one time Dad was on a particularly long hunt and they got bored. They have to do something.

Anything.

Sam picks up his phone and jabs Dean's speed dial with his thumb.


End file.
